


Through A Glass, Darkly

by coldjanuary



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Violence, dubcon, reference to past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldjanuary/pseuds/coldjanuary
Summary: Jacs watches everyone.  She watches Franky most of all.  She sees the parts of Franky that Franky tries to hide.  Jacs is brutal in her pursuit of control.





	Through A Glass, Darkly

**Author's Note:**

> A violent (be warned) encounter in Jacs’ cell explores the dynamics of power between these two wannabe top dogs. They can’t hide their true colours from each other.
> 
> Set just after S1E5 (I think).

 

“What took you so long, Francesca?  You know I don’t like waiting”.  Jacs smiled, that lazy, malicious smile that Franky hated so much.  She didn’t move, either.  Just stayed sitting on the bed, watching Franky who was standing in the doorway.  Waiting for her to make the first move. 

Franky had tried every opening gambit in the past.  Reticence, attack, pretend indifference - they were all the same to Jacs, because Jacs knew what really lay behind them. 

She leaned against the door jamb, arms folded, trying to look casual.  She smiled back but Jacs could see that it was fear that Franky was displaying - she was showing her teeth but her lips were tight and there was no light in her eyes.

Delicious.

“Come here, Francesca.  There’s no need to stand on ceremony”. 

Stupidly, foolishly, Franky once more thinks she might be able to resist this, stop it this time.

 “I’d love to, Jacqueline, you know that, but I’ve got other things to do right now ... ”  She tails off, already a little lost for words.  It’s like Jacs just swallows her swagger, leaves her exposed and shivering.

Jacs’s voice is deep and honeyed.  “If you mean the Governor, I’m sorry to say that she’s no challenge for you, Francesca.  She had her knickers dropped for you a long time ago”.  She smiled, benevolently.  “You can’t seduce someone when they’re already on their back for you”.

“Not my fault I was her favourite pupil” Franky tries, and it sounds okay, the right side of arrogant.

“Well, you’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” Jacs says very quietly.  “Shut the door”.

____________

 

Jacs still sits on the bed.  She regards Franky with open scorn.

“Care to tell me what that little performance was earlier in the laundry?”  She says it casually, lightly, like she’s giving a compliment.  Franky’s palms prickle.  She tells herself to stay still.

“I don’t know what you mean” she says, and she knows it’s a cop-out, straight away.  She changes tack.  “If the women want to take the piss out of you, who am I to stop them?”  The piece of newspaper left on the press, featuring Holt’s new piece of arm candy was a cheap, cowardly shot.  Franky had nothing to do with it - it wasn’t her style.  But she had sniggered with the rest and she knew it had needled Jacs.  Probably the reason for this summons, Franky thought.  Jacs didn’t like things getting under her skin.  Someone always had to pay a price.

Jacs narrows her eyes.  “You know you’re not too big for me to take you over my knee” she drawls and she watches the effect it has on Franky.  It’s nearly indiscernible, but Jacs sees it only too well. 

She loves playing with Franky like this, a fish on a hook, a cat with a mouse and it’s torturous and cruel and she thinks that Franky is learning to love it too. 

The lithe, impudent brunette wasn’t a natural leader.  She was a survivor, yes, but her temper, which she struggled to control, and her lack of strategy meant that there was nothing there to truly threaten Jacs.  Franky got bored easily.  It was as simple as that.

She was bright, and shouldn’t be here - not really.  A moment of madness - and a glaringly obvious weakness.  She might fool the rest of the dummies in here - Governor included - but she was a vulnerable, open book to Jacs Holt.  She ate kids like her for breakfast.

“Get stuffed, Jacqueline.  I’d like to see you try”.  Franky could have bitten her tongue, then.  It didn’t sound scornful, it sounded ... hopeful?  Like a challenge?  Even worse, an invitation?

Jacs tilts her head slightly, and her thick, bobbed hair falls gently about her face.  “I know you would, Francesca.  I can’t say it’s not something I’ve thought about before.  Last thing at night ... ”  Her mouth twists into a smirk because she can see that Franky knows she’s telling her the truth.

Franky’s still standing in the middle of the room and she has her arms folded tightly.  Finally, Jacs stands up and closes the space between them.  “Put your hands in your pockets, Francesca” she says quietly.  She pauses and then says, “Like a good girl”.  Franky does it and Jacs sees her shoulders sag slightly.  Without warning, Jacs jabs a finger into the red, livid slash she gouged on Franky’s breast.  “How’s the cut?” she asks and her nostrils flare a little, like she’s caught the scent of blood.  Franky’s face crumples in pain but she makes no sound. 

Jacs says gently, in a gravelled tone, “A tattoo for a loved one.  How romantic, to mark your skin for them”.  And then Jacs leans close to Franky, so their noses touch and they can feel each others breath and she slowly but firmly licks her tongue up Franky’s chin, over her mouth and finishes on her cheek.  Then she takes a tiny step back, hollows her cheeks and spits in Franky’s face.

Franky’s gaze is unwavering but it is ashamed.  It’s just what Jacs wants.  The older woman gathers Franky’s hair in her fist and tugs at it sharply.  Then she bites hard at Franky’s ear lobe and sucks quickly at her neck.  Franky doesn’t care about the marks, not really. 

The women were used to seeing Franky with a dark necklace of love bites, and it suited Franky to keep up her player image.  Even when Kim got jealous, that was so much the better.  She worked hard to keep Franky interested and it did no girl good to think Franky’s eye could never wander.  The other times with Jacs, if anyone did notice afterwards, everyone just assumed Franky had been fighting.

The bruises on her skin give Franky something to believe in.  If they weren’t there she would never in a million years believe that this was something she did.  Franky hated to admit it, but these marks were memories that meant something.  They were a terrible gift that Jacs cared enough to give her.  She knew she deserved them, and there was a kind of pride in shame like this.

Jacs is whispering into her ear and it’s making Franky weak.  When Jacs has her like this, caught, compliant, Franky knows she could drown in Jacs’ voice.  It catches her like a spell, flows like balm, an unctuous, intoxicating oil that scalds her skin and makes her light-headed and distant, away from here, years away and years younger, smaller, innocent, a prisoner of other things, not of her making ...

Jacs can tell she’s drifting away and Jacs doesn’t want that.  She grabs her tightly under the chin and pushes her backwards, slams her hard enough to knock the breath from her chest against the wall of the cell.  With her hand round her neck she kisses her, a crude, deep invasion of a kiss that Franky allows and accepts and welcomes.  Jacs doesn’t let her kiss her back.  Franky wishes that she could stop herself trying.

“Look in the mirror” Jacs says.  Franky suddenly sees they are next to the sink with the mirrored cabinet above it.  She sees herself, pale, with huge, hopeless eyes, as green as emeralds, her cheek and lips still wet from Jacs’s tongue, her spittle dripping from her chin.  Jacs stands behind her.  The younger woman’s hands are still in the pockets of her uniform and Jacs threads her left arm over both of Franky’s forearms but behind her back so Franky can’t really move. 

Then with her other hand Jacs starts to squeeze Franky’s breasts.  It’s hard and vicious and it’s designed to hurt and the pain is deep and spreading.  When the older woman’s fingers knead the flesh near the cut the anguish is exquisite.  Franky’s nipples are startlingly erect and Jacs pinches them and squeezes them and tears are starting to force their way from the corners of Franky’s eyes. 

Jacs is speaking softly to Franky.  “I know you like this.  Very soon I’ll find out how much so don’t think you can pretend otherwise”.  Franky feels her stomach cramp and her clit throb.  It’s what Jacs does - takes any responsibility for this away from her.  If she does like it - and the heavy pulsing between her legs is telling her emphatically that she does - it doesn’t matter because Jacs tells her what to do.  Jacs hurts her because Jacs knows her better than anyone.

“Get on the bed, Francesca.  You know how”.  Franky doesn’t move immediately and so Jacs reaches up and pulls her towards the single bed by her hair.  She throws the thin, anguished girl onto the mattress and shakes her head.  “You know I don’t like having to repeat myself”.  There is a dangerous edge to Jacs’s voice.  “Don’t make me do it again”. 

Franky is pulling off her white vest.  She’s not wearing a bra and her breasts are marked and red from Jacs’s fingers.  She pulls her tracksuit bottoms down, her underwear coming with it.  She pulls them over her ankles and they land on the floor.

Franky is naked and she sits on the side of the bed, her hands clutching the edge of the mattress.  Jacs says nothing.  Franky stands up and turns round, then bends slightly so her palms are flat on the middle of the bed.  Jacs stands behind her and doesn’t touch her.  Jacs can see the scars scattered over her back, the back of her legs, behind her knees ... little constellations of old cigarette burns.  She makes sure Franky knows she is taking her time, looking at her body, reading her story.  And then she kicks Franky’s ankles apart. 

“Are you going to be wet for me, Francesca?” asks Jacs and her voice is molten.  Franky nods, too quickly.

“I should think so, too” Jacs says, and then she puts her fingers in between Franky’s legs. 

“God, you’re a fucking mess”.  Franky is so wet it’s run down her thighs.  Her cunt is sopping and sticky, and Jacs is faintly disgusted.  She’s not sure she wants it to be this easy.

She has no appetite, she realises, this time, for fucking the girl.  The first few times she was still breaking her in - and Franky fought, a little, came even though she didn’t want to.  Jacs had savoured Franky’s distaste.  So not like this.

“Get on your back” Jacs whispers. 

“What?” says Franky before she can stop herself.  That’s when Jacs punches her, hard, in the back of the head.

Franky falls face downwards and then turns over to face the older woman, indignant, surprised, her head throbbing and stars exploding in her vision.

Jacs is smiling.  “I told you I didn’t like to repeat myself.  It’s about time I got something out of this arrangement, I think, Francesca.  I’ll be as quick as I can because I don’t want to suffocate you”.  And Jacs is pulling her own tracksuit bottoms down, over wide, voluptuous thighs.

It’s not what Franky’s expecting, at all, when Jacs climbs slowly onto the bed, puts one knee either side of her and shuffles up the bed with some effort so that her thighs are either side of Franky’s face.  Jacs’s swollen cunt looms over Franky’s face, her clit protruding like a glossy dark pearl, her curly, thick hair slick and wet with her arousal.  The smell of her fills Franky’s nostrils and the back of her throat.  She is clean but musky, and a little sweet.  Franky’s mouth starts to water and her head, after the blow, is throbbing in time with her desperate clit.  Jacs has never done this, never wanted this.  Franky doesn’t know what to think about it until Jacs lowers herself onto Franky’s face and she realises she doesn’t have to think about it at all.

Franky struggles to navigate her tongue at first and Jacs is pressed tight against her, is giving her no room to move, no room to breathe.  Her nose is filled with wetness and honeyed juices drip into her mouth and throat.  It’s gorgeous and it’s vulgar and Franky can’t breath.  She remembers that Jacs told her to be quick. 

Franky prides herself on this.  She know she can make Jacs come in 90 seconds - Jacs is a sadist and she’s already pushed herself to the edge with the things she’s done so far.  Franky moves her tongue delicately, circling Jacs’s clit, dipping into her vaginal opening, coaxing more and more wetness from the older woman.

Warm, heavy thighs clamp against Franky’s face, the skin soft and crepey, surrounding the younger girl with a saturation of sinful, sensual flesh.  All this softness, fluid, silken sensation belies what is at the core of this, which is a knife that plunges hard into her flaming heart.  The scroll beneath, held in the beaks of plump, cute birds might read, “True Love”.

Jacs has her hands in her hair again, pulling tightly, and she’s riding her face roughly.  For a fleeting moment Franky wonders if Jacs losing control but then Franky realises how unlikely that would be.  Her movements are erratic and sloppy, though, and she is letting more and more of her body weight fall on the younger woman’s face.   Even if Franky tried to wrestle away from her she doubted if she could do it.  Jacs was just too much, too much of everything. 

Frankie thinks Jacs is speaking to her.  She can’t quite hear but she knows what Jacs will be saying to her, what she always says to her when she’s fucking her. 

Sometimes those things come into her head when she least expects it; when she’s in the laundry and the hiss of the press causes a halo of steam to coil around Jacs’ head to make her a Medusa and those eyes glint and catch Franky’s gaze, then she hears those words, the words that shame her.  Or she’ll be watching TV, Kim curled into her lap, and the women are laughing at what they see on the screen and suddenly she’ll hear Jacs, telling her all the things she really is, all the things that Jacs can see she is but nobody else knows because Franky spends all her time pretending.

Frankie knows Jacs is going to come.  Even the thought of it is nearly enough to make Frankie climax and she tries to put her hand down to her own clit, just a touch, just a tiny touch but Jacs grabs both her wrists and slams her hands down hard on the bed above her head and holds them there.  Then Jacs grinds down hard and groans shudderingly and loudly and comes copiously down Franky’s eager throat.

Franky needs to breathe; she’s light-headed and staring out of a window into the dark, waiting for someone to come back and get her ...

It’s the slap across the face that does it.  Brings her back.  And is this her own bed?  It’s starting to feel that way.

Jacs is leaning over her, a strange look on her face. 

“Breathe, Francesca”, she says.  Then she chuckles.  “Drama queen!”

“Fuckin’ bitch” says Franky and she sits up on an elbow, and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist.  Franky feels like she’s been in a fight, and her cunt is still throbbing, so strongly it hurts. 

It’s the first time Jacs hasn’t made her come and Franky has to admit it’s clever - the other side of this cruel, torturous coin that has been tossed and spins and turns but never lands, never tells her if she has won or lost.

“Better watch that sweet mouth, Francesca” Jacs says and she reaches over to stroke Franky’s face.  Then she carelessly forces all four fingers into Franky’s mouth, and removes them slowly and tenderly.

“Don’t forget, next time, you come when I call.  Or not, as the case may be” says Jacs.  “You do what I tell you and if you ever think you’ve got one up on me, that’s because I’m letting you think that.  Do you understand me?”

Franky just nods, her eyes shining.

“Good girl” says Jacs.  “Now get out”.

 

____________


End file.
